Kiss Lessons
by GrezildeTwist
Summary: Vegeta gets told off by Bulma for being a lousy lover, and she even dares him to go and ask to be taught how to kiss by her talented ex-boyfriend. Unexpectedly, Vegeta does command Yamcha to teach him, and forces his case through to the human. Things start to heat up as the lessons continue, but how does Yamcha feel when Vegeta stops needing him? Vegeta/Yamcha. CHAPTER 4 UP.
1. First Lesson

Bulma sighed deeply. Vegeta knew that sigh. It meant two things – she was unhappy, and she was about to tell him why. He watched her as she sat up on the edge of the bed, throwing the covers aside, and reached for her robe that was spread out on the back of an armchair. This was unlike her – usually she either cuddled up to him or fell right asleep. Sure, it was only a half past ten o'clock, but still, this was not her habit. She pulled on her robe and sighed again.

"What?" asked Vegeta, rather not postponing the inevitable lecture.

"Since when have you become so boring?" she asked, in her typical merciless honesty.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, it's lousy", she said, turning to look at him. "You know, sex. Now don't get me wrong, the sex itself is still pretty great. But it doesn't quite have the same magic when it's the exact same kind of great every single time."

"Well, what are you going to do about it?" Vegeta asked, folding his arms behind his head.

"More like what are _you_ going to do about it", she answered, tying the sash of her robe. "You're the one who wants to take initiative, so setting the scene is kind of your responsibility, right? And let me be honest, mister, you could really step up your game a bit when it comes to foreplay. And kissing. And fondling. And, well, pretty much everything that happens besides the actual bam-bam in the ham."

"Hmph. What's wrong with what I do?" Vegeta grumbled, frowning.

"Well, for starters, you're pretty rough", Bulma said as she stood up and started combing her hair. "When you kiss me, it's like being at the dentist. A bunch of poking and grinding."

"You said you like it intense."

"I do! But I'd still rather feel like I'm being made love to and not getting a root canal", she snorted. "You are so unromantic… The whole process is always the same with you. Grab that, squeeze there, roll over, dispatch. Couldn't you try and be a little more creative?"

"If you don't like it, why don't you just tell me what you want me to do?" murmured Vegeta, pouting in annoyance.

"I shouldn't need to", said Bulma as she dropped into the armchair. "If you were interested in making me feel good and not just getting your own end, you'd find different ways to go about it."

She put her chin in her palm, leaning her elbow on the armrest of the chair.

"Yamcha was always fantastic in bed", she sighed, staring wistfully out the window. "So considerate, so committed. Always striving to make me feel special. Ten years together and no two nights were the same. His kissing alone was enough to make you come. Gentle yet passionate. Getting kissed by you is like having my face sucked with a toilet plunger. You could learn a thing or two from him."

"If he was so wonderful, why'd you leave him?" Vegeta growled.

"We didn't have the chemistry", Bulma said nonchalantly. "Sadly, great sex alone doesn't make a relationship work. But it helps, you know."

Vegeta rolled his eyes and said nothing. In a contest of scoff, there was no defeating Bulma.

"He really was great though", she said after the silence had lasted for a moment. She smiled to herself, engulfed in good memories. Then she stood up and started for the bathroom, stretching her arms as she walked. "If you can't be bothered to use your imagination, go watch an instructional video or something. There are video tutorials for everything these days. I'm sure there's someone out there teaching people how to kiss."

She stepped into the bathroom, and soon the sound of running water could be heard echoing from the tiles.

Vegeta snorted. She really knew where to strike. Her bringing up her old lover really irritated him, not to mention comparing the human with him. She never did that, compare the two. Vegeta had always figured it was out of kindness towards Yamcha, for what did he have that could possibly be placed on level with the prince of Saiyans? Vegeta had never even considered it might be because there was something he wasn't on par at with the human. While he didn't really have a reason to outright dislike Yamcha, he'd never found him the least bit interesting or worthy of his attention.

Or at least, he hadn't until now. What could be so special about Yamcha's love-making that would make Bulma speak so highly of him? She was habitually brutally honest, and though she could slip into exaggerating, she wouldn't do it if she wasn't truly impressed. And she was not easy to impress.

Whatever the case, Vegeta hated being told he wasn't good enough, let alone worse than someone else in vicinity, in any aspect of life. He would show Bulma just how committed he could be. If it was elaborate osculation she wanted, that's what she would get.

And she had suggested he take a lesson from the master, hadn't she?

Next night, at approximately quarter to nine, Vegeta stopped at the door of Yamcha's apartment. He remembered being told that the human spent about half of his time living in the city and the other half roaming the wilderness with the flying cat, who resided permanently in the desert. Despite his apparent success in sports, the human seemed to live rather modestly, on the highest floor of a six-story building. Vegeta had never visited Yamcha before, so it had taken a moment to pinpoint his ki among the rows of apartment buildings. Naturally, there was no way he could ask Bulma for the exact address. He could tell he had the right door, though. He could sense the familiar aura from inside.

Vegeta rang the doorbell. His ears could pick up the soft noises coming from inside as the resident of the apartment moved towards the door. When the footsteps stopped, he could guess he was being watched from the door viewer, so he watched back. After a moment there was a click from the lock and the door opened ajar.

"What do you want?" said Yamcha as he peeked from the narrow opening into the corridor. Neither his expression or his tone of voice did nothing to hide his suspicion at finding Vegeta at his door.

"There's something I need from you", said Vegeta, staring piercingly at the human. "Let me in."

"What could you possibly need from me?" Yamcha asked, now confused rather than suspicious.

"Knowledge", Vegeta replied. "It concerns Bulma."

"What, is she okay?" asked Yamcha, as Vegeta had guessed he would, word for word. He resisted the temptation to comment on the human's predictability.

"She's fine", he said. "Let me in so we can talk."

After a few seconds' hesitation, Yamcha opened the door and stepped aside. Vegeta entered, removed his shoes and without speaking walked further into the apartment. He turned left from the short hallway, arriving in the living room. The large space was divided by a sofa, with a sizeable television set on the left side and a trophy cabinet on the right side of the room. Next to the cabinet, side there was an entrance into the bedroom, and on the other wall, into the kitchen. The apartment wasn't showy or big – figures, for one person – but the scarce furniture had been picked in good taste. Vegeta crossed the thick rug on the floor of the left side of the living room and sat himself down on the dark wine-red sofa.

Yamcha followed Vegeta into the room and leaned against the wall next to the hallway entrance. Vegeta looked at him. He was growing out his hair again, which was currently at shoulder blade length. Long hair suited Yamcha, Vegeta thought. It made him look young.

"So, what do you need?" the human asked.

"Bulma says I don't know how to kiss", said Vegeta, his eyes unwavering and still fixed on Yamcha. "I need you to teach me."

Yamcha stared at Vegeta, and Vegeta stared back. After a lengthy silence, a small nervous laugh escaped Yamcha's lips, but as Vegeta's face still didn't change, the human cleared his throat and said, dryly:

"What?"

"According to her, you're the best", said Vegeta, formal and stern as ever. "And to me, only the best will suffice. So you're going to teach me."

"To… kiss?"

"Yes."

Yamcha looked around, dumbfounded, as if the explanation to this baffling situation lay hidden somewhere in the living room.

"You're joking", he said after his mouth had hung open, unable to form words, for some ten seconds.

"No", replied Vegeta. He remained sitting on the couch, looking at Yamcha, whose face was a generous display or shock and disbelief. Finally, the human's mouth tightened into a straight line as his astonishment was replaced with anger. He straightened himself and said, his voice low:

"Get out."

Vegeta frowned but remained unmoving on the sofa.

"Didn't you hear me?" hissed Yamcha from between his teeth, his fists clenching tightly. "Get out."

"No", Vegeta said. "Not before I get what I came for."

"Does your arrogance know no bounds?" the human snapped. "Get the hell out!"

Yamcha was taken aback when Vegeta suddenly stood up, seemingly obeying. It was only when he was a mere step away that Yamcha realized the Saiyan wasn't headed for the hallway entrance, but for him. Before he could move, Vegeta slammed his hands against the wall, trapping Yamcha between them, pushing his face near the human's.

"Perhaps you misunderstood something here", growled Vegeta. "I'm not asking you to do anything. I'm _telling_ you to do it. And you will do as I say. You will teach me."

"Y-you're being ridiculous", Yamcha said nervously. "You can't force me to do something like that."

"Can't I?" asked Vegeta. Yamcha looked at his face, a couple of inches below his, and it was painfully clear that the Saiyan was completely serious. Despite his anger at being ridiculed and the utter absurdity of the situation, Yamcha was genuinely intimidated – though he couldn't begin to imagine what methods Vegeta would use to realize his threat, Yamcha didn't doubt he absolutely would. The human lowered his eyes and swallowed audibly, forcing the bitter taste of humility down his throat.

"Fine", he said quietly. "Fine. I'll teach you. Could you step back?"

Vegeta did, releasing Yamcha from the imprisonment of his presence. As if nothing special had occurred, the prince returned to sit on the sofa, leaving room to his right. Yamcha was struggling to stomach the cocktail of mortification, laughability and ominousness of the position he found himself in. He wiped cold sweat off his forehead as he forced himself to sit down on the sofa, a good arm's length from Vegeta.

"So, what do you want to know?" he asked, unable to look at the man.

"Teach me to kiss the way she likes", said Vegeta.

"Oh God", Yamcha puffed, running his hand through his hair. "What does that even mean? What's wrong with the way you kiss?"

"According to her, I'm dull and rough", Vegeta answered.

"Like, how?" asked Yamcha, wincing as despair was taking over. "Do you bite her or something? Because if you do, just… don't."

Vegeta rolled his eyes and snorted:

"I'll show you."

To Yamcha's horror, the Saiyan grabbed him by the shoulders and began to pull him towards himself. Instinctively, the human raised his hands in front of his face in protest.

"No, don't!" he yelped, turning his face away. "No need, I – I'll think of something –"

Vegeta let go. Yamcha tried to stand up to gain distance, but the Saiyan grabbed his shoulder again, forcing him to remain sitting. Yamcha's heart was racing, and his hands were practically soaked with sweat. This is sexual harassment, he thought to himself. If he didn't want it to escalate into anything worse, he'd better give Vegeta some satisfactory advice and end this horrifying encounter as soon as possible. He took a deep breath, counted silently to ten and turned to Vegeta, as calm as he could.

"Bulma likes… being courted", he began, fixing his eyes on Vegeta's chin, as he couldn't bear looking him in the eyes. "She likes being coaxed and allured. If – if you go for a kiss straight away like – like you did just now – she'll probably find it… boring."

Yamcha saw Vegeta's chin nod.

"I guess I don't really know what you guys do – before, you know, so… I-I'll just start at the very beginning", he continued, stuttering in embarrassment and awkwardness. "You could begin by t… touching her here and there suggestively. Like her shoulders, or her… waist… or her hair – like, if you stroke her hair behind her ear – she likes that. Then, you could s- uh… softly k-kiss her, not on the lips, but on the cheeks or – or the side of her neck and her shoulders, and her… hands."

Vegeta still said nothing, and his silence was making Yamcha even more uneasy. He was convinced the Saiyan was internally laughing at him, at his words and his miserable appearance.

"How does that… sound to you so far?" he asked carefully.

"Unnecessarily complicated", replied Vegeta. "Why would she need to be coaxed if she already wants it?"

"To set the atmosphere", Yamcha answered, looking to the side – to him it was obvious. "To build up expectations, to make her… excited. Besides, she enjoys the attention. She likes to know you're willing to spend the effort to make her feel special."

For a moment Yamcha was caught up in his memories of his and Bulma's relationship. She hadn't exactly had a problem voicing what she liked, and he had wanted to comply – he had wanted to make her feel special. He hadn't minded going the extra mile. Why he had to sit there and reveal the most intimate aspects of that relationship to someone who couldn't bother with basic gestures of affection was beyond him.

"And then?" Vegeta's voice woke Yamcha from his reminiscing. "When I can actually kiss her, how should I do it?"

"That, uh…" Yamcha began again. "Since she feels that you're too rough, you should probably… start softer and gradually become more… intense. She likes intense, though, so – so not too soft. I mean, uh, maybe make it… p-passionate but – gentle?"

Yamcha buried his head into his hands. It wasn't easy recalling what it was like to kiss Bulma, let alone find words to describe it in detail, when he could feel Vegeta's unforgiving gaze drill a hole into the side of his face.

"Man, it's hard to explain", he sighed.

"Do it to me then", said Vegeta.

"No!" said Yamcha immediately, turning to look at Vegeta. Up until now, the prince's face had remained expressionless – that is, if you were willing to not count the subtle frown of contempt as an expression – but as soon as Yamcha uttered his rejection, he saw Vegeta's brows come closer together and his eyes narrow, and he knew there was no other way to please the prince than doing as he told. Besides, unpleasant as it was, showing him what he meant in practice was probably the fastest and most efficient way to get Vegeta to leave.

"I mean, wait", he hurried to say, looking down at his lap, and the tightly intertwined fingers of his hands. "I just… I need…"

"Everything you just explained, do it to me", Vegeta commanded, straightening from his laid-back position on the sofa, moving to sit on the edge of the seat. "Now."

Yamcha felt Vegeta's weight shift next to him. Why had he opened the door? He cleared his throat, inhaled deeply and turned to Vegeta.

"All right", he said, leering at the prince from under his brows. "I'll do it, but once that's done, you leave. Okay?"

"Fine", said Vegeta. "If I find your demonstration satisfactory, that is."

Yamcha closed his eyes and wished he could close his ears as easily. Keeping his head down, he tried to moisten his dry-as-chalk lips with his equally dry tongue. Strangely enough, the idea of wooing Vegeta wasn't as repulsive to him as it was frightening – he feared the scorn and the insults that were sure to follow, no matter how he performed. He would have liked to spare himself from the mockery. But right now, sparing himself from the potential physical violence seemed more important – if only slightly.

Yamcha moved a few inches closer, making his knees touch Vegeta's at the edge of the sofa. Then, concentrating all his willpower into not minding, he picked up Vegeta's right hand and brought it up to his lips. Softly he kissed the knuckles and the back of the palm. He rotated the hand gently to be able to plant a trail of kisses along the wrist, slowly climbing up towards the elbow. As he proceeded, he placed Vegeta's wrist on his shoulder, letting his palm rest on the back of his neck. Carefully he put his own right hand on Vegeta's waist, and with the left felt his way up Vegeta's arm all the way to his cheek. He leaned closer, tilted his head and pressed his lips on the side of the saiyan's neck, just at the seam between neck and shoulder.

Yamcha couldn't help but shudder as Vegeta's broad chest was pressed against his, and jerked slightly when he felt the man's left hand land on his lower back. To distract himself – and to expedite the awkward transaction – he began kissing the Saiyan's neck stronger, opening his mouth wider and tentatively stroking the skin with the tip of his tongue.

Think about Bulma, he told himself, but all the imaginative power in the world wouldn't have been able to make him believe the veined neck under his mouth or the musky scent filling his nostrils belonged to anyone else than the prince of Saiyans himself. He pressed his lips into the hollow below Vegeta's ear and was surprised when the other tilted his head to the side. At the same time, Yamcha felt the fingers of the hand on his nape close, grabbing a tuft of his hair, and the arm around his waist pulling him tighter in. While he hadn't expected Vegeta to simply stay still like a doll, the fact that he was conforming with Yamcha's movements took him by surprise – and unnerved him in a way he didn't quite understand. He cursed in his mind as his hands started shaking uncontrollably. There was no way this went unnoticed by Vegeta, on whose cheek Yamcha's left hand was still resting. To disguise it, the human slid said hand behind the Saiyan's head and buried it in his hair. It was somewhat softer than he had expected.

In his nervousness, Yamcha momentarily forgot how he had got into the situation and was only concerned with hiding his trepidation from the prince. To avoid letting Vegeta hear his shaky breathing, he brought his mouth from the Saiyan's ear to his temple. As he planted numerous kisses on the temple and the cheek, he raised his right hand from Vegeta's side to cup his face, as if holding the other in place would help control his own quivering. Finally, as the side of his mouth brushed over the Saiyan's lips, Yamcha realized how caught up in his actions he had become, and froze. His eyes flew open, blood rushed to his face, and his heartbeat doubled in tempo. He became overtly conscious of the fact he was immobilized in an embrace, cheek to cheek, with Vegeta of all people. He wondered if he should say something, or just continue this absurd demonstration like he was supposed to. How the hell had he got himself caught up in something like this?

"Go on."

Yamcha flinched involuntarily when he heard Vegeta's voice whisper next to his ear. The tone was neutral, soothing even, without impatience or even the prince's habitual gruffness. Yamcha gulped audibly.

"S…sorry", he said, in a thin, wheezy voice, and immediately regretted speaking. He closed his eyes again and took a couple of deep breaths. He brought both hands on Vegeta's cheeks, using his thumbs to caress the sculpted face, and pressed his mouth on Vegeta's. The prince's lips were surprisingly smooth, with a velvet-like texture, and they had a very distinct, savoury flavour. He felt the other's hands move. One arm wrapped itself around his shoulders and the other cupped his cheek, stroking a strand of hair behind his ear. Vegeta held him tightly and, matching the moderate intensity and rhythm, kissed Yamcha back.

As Yamcha felt Vegeta's lips envelope his, the trembling of his hands spread to his entire body, and he realized that the source of his nervousness was not fear or embarrassment, but simply the unfamiliarity of being touched in such a manner. He scolded himself in his mind, but he couldn't deny feeling genuine excitement at being embraced like he was, when it'd been so long since he last had been. He wondered what Vegeta was thinking. Was he enjoying this? Or was he just tolerating it, despite his discontentment, for the sake of research? There was nothing for Yamcha to draw a conclusion on – the man was an enigma.

After the kiss had lingered for a minute or so, and its intensity had slightly increased, Vegeta abruptly backed up. Yamcha opened his eyes to see the once again unreadable face in front of him. Overwhelmed with embarrassment, he quickly averted his eyes and removed his hands from the Saiyan's face. He stood up hastily and took a couple of steps, hung his head and crossed his arms over his chest.

"Satisfied?" he asked, trying to sound indifferent. He heard a creak from the sofa as Vegeta stood up behind him.

"I think I understood the general idea."

Aloof, like nothing had happened, as always. Yamcha heard Vegeta walk to the hallway, then the soft rustling as he put on his shoes. The human peeked towards the hallway from the corner of his eye, but Vegeta was hidden behind the corner.

"She wasn't exaggerating", he heard the prince say. "You're good. Goodbye."

When the door had closed, Yamcha allowed himself to slump into the sofa. He wiped his eyes. His heart was still pounding. He was angry again – angry at Vegeta for being determined to replace him in Bulma's life so completely he'd go as far as duplicating the way Yamcha touched her, and for having the nerve to actually make Yamcha tell him how to do it. And at the same time, he was ashamed of himself for having found even a sliver of pleasure from being the centre of that man's attention.

Then again, these days, he wasn't the centre of anyone's attention, so he could probably chalk it up to novelty.

TBC


	2. Private practice

For the next three nights, Yamcha slept poorly. Despite his best efforts, his thoughts kept taking him back to Vegeta. He imagined the prince repeating everything he had done, to Bulma. And honestly, when Yamcha really thought about it, it hadn't really been that much. As much as he had tried to recreate the way he used to be with Bulma, he hadn't been able to overcome his modesty. His touches had been careful and his kiss on Vegeta's lips had been shy – try as he might, he hadn't achieved the level of familiarity he'd had with Bulma. And how could he? They had been together for almost a decade, he knew her inside and out. He didn't know Vegeta at all. That much had become clear.

Occasionally, Yamcha felt better about himself – after all, there had been absolutely nothing meaningful about the encounter, so second-guessing himself was pointless. But the next moment, he would find himself thinking about how much more invested and interesting he could have been. Then he scolded himself again – he didn't need to be thinking about it. Whether Vegeta had found it enjoyable or not didn't matter. He hadn't wanted to kiss the Saiyan in the first place. It was insignificant, so of course it wouldn't be anything to write home about. It took passion and desire to make someone really feel good. And Vegeta probably had plenty of those for Bulma. Good for them.

And then, just when he was at peace with himself and drifting into sleep, Yamcha remembered how it had felt to be held. Just held. As if someone cared.

He cursed in his mind as he flipped over his pillow and plunged into it face first. That stupid, arrogant, insensitive oaf! He had no idea just how much his meaningless gesture had managed to mess with Yamcha's feelings.

Four days after the incident, after he had finally got a good night's sleep, at half past eleven in the evening, Yamcha heard the doorbell ring. Instantly, an ominous feeling flushed over him. He was sitting on his bed, listening to a late-night radio show, dressed in the loose shorts he liked to sleep in. It was late. Not many of his acquaintances would dare visit that late, especially without calling in advance. Yamcha checked the screen of his phone on the nightstand. No missed calls. A chill ran up his spine. The doorbell rang again.

This can't be happening, he thought as he stood up and grabbed a short-sleeved shirt from the footboard of the bed. As he pulled the shirt over his head, the doorbell rang a third time, then a fourth, their intervals shortening exponentially. Yamcha switched on the light in the hallway and peeked through the door viewer.

"Oh my God", he murmured to himself before raising his voice to ask: "What are you doing here?"

"Let me in", said Vegeta from behind the door, and rang the doorbell again.

"Stop ringing", Yamcha snapped, as the bell now sounded right next to his ear. As he should have guessed, Vegeta replied by pressing the bell button repeatedly, causing a near continuous noise. Yamcha yanked the door open. "Stop it! You're disturbing the whole building!"

Without a word, Vegeta shoved him out of his way and entered. Indifferent to Yamcha's resistance, the Saiyan advanced resolute like a locomotive, all the way to the living room sofa. Gritting his teeth, Yamcha closed the door and followed the intruder to the dimly lit living room.

"You can't do this", he said, struggling to remain calm. "You can't just –"

"It didn't work", declared Vegeta, completely ignoring what the other was saying. "She wasn't satisfied. I made a fool of myself."

Yamcha began another word of protest, but knowing it to be futile, settled for pressing his index fingers to his temples and taking the deepest breath of his life so far.

"Okay", he sighed. "What went wrong?"

"I was distracted", grunted Vegeta, glaring at Yamcha like he was to blame. "I couldn't concentrate on her because I was thinking about you."

Yamcha's stomach turned inside out.

"I couldn't stay in the moment because I was trying to remember what you had done", Vegeta continued, unaware of any unintended implications in his phrasing. "She said I was clumsy. She laughed at me."

The clarification made Yamcha sigh of relief, and immediately he felt like a fool for having made any assumptions. He pinched the bridge of his nose – both to gather his thoughts and to hide the fact he was blushing.

"Look, you don't just learn these things in a snap", he said. "What matters most is that you're really there with the other person and listen to them. And when it comes to any so-called techniques, you just – you've just got to try and discover. It… it just takes practice."

"Exactly", stated Vegeta and stood up, vigorous and determined. "That's what I'm here for. Practice."

"What?" Yamcha said quietly, sensing danger coming his way.

"I fumbled because I never got to try out your tips myself", said Vegeta, and pointed to the sofa. "I'm going to practice with you. Sit down."

"Wha- no!" Yamcha raised his hands in front of him, his face turning from pink to pale. "Wait just a moment – you said that once I did what you asked, you'd leave me alone!"

"No, I didn't. I agreed to leave – but I said nothing about not coming back", said Vegeta, smirking ever so slightly. "Besides, last time we covered mostly pre-kiss things, which was your suggestion. You never actually taught me what I wanted to learn. So essentially, I got ripped off on this deal."

"There's no deal!" Yamcha exclaimed, throwing his arms in the air. "What is wrong with you? You can't just barge in and demand things from me like I'm somehow obliged to you! I'm not!"

"Sit down", the prince repeated his command. "This time I do it and you give feedback."

"No", said Yamcha, not even convincing himself.

"Sit", Vegeta ordered, his voice solid as a rock.

"Do we even speak the same language?" Yamcha moaned as he buried his face in his hands in anguish. The frustration of having his every word completely ignored was about to burst him to bits – he felt so bad he wanted to cry, but he knew better than to think appealing to Vegeta's compassion would have any effect. He also knew the more he resisted, the angrier Vegeta became, so it was best to indulge when he was primarily interested in something else than punching in Yamcha's teeth.

He just wants to practice, the human told himself, admitting defeat. The Saiyan probably didn't see any difference between training your physical prowess and honing your face-sucking skills – and he obviously didn't care if Yamcha did.

"There's an easy way and a painful way about this", Vegeta growled.

"Fine, God, fine!" barked Yamcha, once again swallowing his exasperation. His pulse was racing. He didn't know how he could possibly get himself to think about romance when he was about to split with rage. He needed a second alone to get a hold of himself. He turned and started for the bedroom, saying under his breath:

"I'll be right back."

"Where do you think you're going?" snarled Vegeta immediately.

"Bathroom! Geez", Yamcha snarled. "Just try and control your cravings for one goddamn minute!"

Vegeta snorted in response. When Yamcha had disappeared into the bedroom – where the entrance of the bathroom was located – the Saiyan prince let his eyes wander around the room. There was a standing light in the corner next to the television screen. He stepped over and lit it. It cast a soft, warm light. In its illumination, Vegeta could make out the outlines of the kitchen; the appliances on the counter, the small round dining table and the two chairs next to it. The kitchen was extremely neat. The whole apartment was – in fact, there were so few things in it, it almost seemed like a temporary home. He wondered if the human kept his belongings to a minimum because he spent half of his year outside the city. Where did he go, Vegeta wondered, out there in the wilderness?

Suddenly he heard a faint noise from the bedroom's direction. Water running into the sink – and after that, the sound of brushing one's teeth. For a second, Vegeta thought back to what he'd eaten that day.

When he glanced at the bedroom door, his eyes fell on the trophy cabinet that stood in the space between the sofa and the bedroom. He walked over to take a closer look. The four shelves of the cabinet were protected by a pair of glass doors. Each shelf carried several cups, medals, statuettes, glass sculptures and other kinds of rewards. But unlike everything else in the apartment, they were completely unorganized – the medals were in messy bundles, their ribbons tangled, and the trophies faced the walls or lay on their sides. Vegeta tilted his head. The handles of the glass doors had dust gathered on them, like they hadn't been touched for quite a while.

In the bathroom, Yamcha finished brushing his teeth, wiped his mouth with a paper tissue and blew his nose. He felt like a complete idiot. He had no reason to care if his breath smelled. He'd eaten fish that day, but it had been white fish, and he'd had tea and other things to drink afterwards. Plus, he didn't need to try and be pleasant to Vegeta. But he didn't want to be at the receiving end of any witty commentary either, and the one thing he did know about Vegeta was that no topic of jeer was too petty for him. The human sighed deep, looked at his reflection and shook his head at the miserable man in the mirror. Who was this loser and when had he started living here?

When Yamcha emerged from the bedroom, he found Vegeta standing in front of the trophy cabinet. Not wanting to hear what the warrior thought of his current profession, the human walked past him and sat down on the sofa. As he did, he heard Vegeta say:

"These are displayed poorly. You can't tell which is which."

"I know which is which", answered Yamcha indifferently. Vegeta looked at him with a curious frown, but said nothing. He followed the human around the sofa and sat down.

"Now, let's get down to it", he said. Again, his choice of words evoked all kinds of uncomfortable feelings in Yamcha, who wished with all his might that his face would not be so prone to blushing. But Vegeta appeared indifferent. "Let's begin by reviewing what you told me last time."

With great discomfort, Yamcha repeated to his best memory all that he had said about preparations. Vegeta nodded every now and then, his face serious. The way he was listening so keenly now made Yamcha feel even worse about how the prince had so perfectly disregarded his refusal earlier.

When Yamcha finished, fairly certain he'd repeated everything he'd said four days prior, Vegeta nodded.

"Good", said the prince. "Now, we practice."

With those words, he grabbed the other man by the back of the head and yanked him forward, and before Yamcha could utter a single syllable, latched his mouth on the human's neck. Compared to the rowdiness of his initiative, the kiss itself was surprisingly tender, yet sultry. Vegeta's velvet-like lips nibbled Yamcha's skin firmly but sensually. The unexpectedly pleasant sensation left Yamcha's mouth hanging open in astonishment. The Saiyan's warm breath on his earlobe and the soft smacking as a resilient kiss after another was planted on his neck made Yamcha's insides tingle. After savouring the neck and shoulder area for a generous moment, Vegeta took Yamcha's hand and started kissing it, occasionally so intensely that Yamcha wasn't sure if the Saiyan wasn't in fact trying to draw blood from the veins of his wrist. When Yamcha dared to glance up at him, he noticed Vegeta's eyes were closed. Was he thinking about Bulma, imagining her in Yamcha's stead? He must be, the human thought – he wouldn't be so absorbed in this otherwise…

"How was that?" asked Vegeta suddenly, backing off. Yamcha blinked. He'd forgotten he was supposed to be surveying quality.

"Uh, I think that was p-pretty good", he muttered, not-so-subtly covering the faint flush on his face. "I – I'm sure she'd like that."

As those words left his mouth, Yamcha's trail of thought was suddenly halted. This was about Bulma. If it really, truly had been her in his place here, then everything Vegeta had just done – would it really have been enough for her? Yamcha himself may have been overwhelmed simply by the novelty and weirdness of the situation, but Vegeta and Bulma were a couple. They'd been together for a while. When he'd been with Bulma, would he have been satisfied with treating her like Vegeta had just now? As much as he hated being pressured into this kind of position, a curious sense of pride was telling him that since he had to do it, he might as well do it _well_.

"With that said", he continued, adopting a slightly more confident posture. "There's still room for more invention and dynamicity."

Vegeta tilted his head to the side, and his eyes narrowed in curiosity.

"For example, feel free to alter the pressure of your kisses", Yamcha continued. "Try going between softer and stronger. Don't feel like you can't afford to step down a notch when you're moving on to a different part of her body. Varying the intensity will keep it unpredictable and interesting to her. Also, you can totally afford being more active with your hands. I – I probably didn't give a very good example last time, though…"

"Like, how?" Vegeta asked. "What would she like?"

"Well, uh…" Yamcha mumbled, feeling a fresh dose of blood rush towards his face again. "She likes being embraced, and c-caressed and touched… f-for example, on her…uh…"

"Out with it", snapped Vegeta when Yamcha's voice faded. The human hung down his head, closed his eyes and listed quickly:

"Her hips, breasts, chin, face and legs. F-for example…"

As his voice disappeared again, Yamcha heard Vegeta mumble in approval. Not wanting to allow the prince to ask for any more details on the matter, he cleared his throat and muttered:

"You guys have been together for a while now, so you should be careful not to start taking things for granted. You should always convince yourself you're discovering something for the first time. Of course, here, with – with me, it's – it is all for the f… first – you know, so – s-so just try and be the same with her."

That came out somehow wrong, Yamcha agonized in his mind and turned to look away, abandoning all subtlety. Convinced that his face was currently undistinguishable from a very ripe tomato, he tried to lighten up the weirdness by playfully mumbling:

"W-with the exception of course, that she – that you actually like her."

Vegeta was silent for way too long for Yamcha's liking. Though he normally despised the prince's arrogant attitude, right now he would have welcomed one of his cheeky remarks or smug chuckles.

Just when Yamcha was about to break the silence himself, his hand was picked up lightly. He felt the prince's velvety lips press themselves softly onto his palm and heard how the Saiyan inhaled deep. Then, each of his fingers received their own meeting with the prince's mouth. Yamcha felt how their fingers were laced as he prince proceeded to explore the wrist and arm delicately, intimately – so sensually it made Yamcha's skin break out in goose bumps. The human's arm was gently pulled as the man beside him moved closer, and then Yamcha felt the weight of Vegeta's other hand land on his thigh. As the kisses advanced up his unclothed arm, the hand began to slide up and down his leg, feeling up the top and side of his thigh. Yamcha's heart began beating faster and he felt a fluttering sensation at the bottom of his stomach. It was different from before, Vegeta's touch. Completely different. It was exploring, palpating, concentrated and unrushed. Like he was –

Yamcha turned his head to be able to glance at the prince just as his lips separated from the human's upper arm. Unlike before, Vegeta's eyes were now open, and as soon as Yamcha turned his head, fixated on his. When their eyes met, Yamcha was taken over with an all-encompassing shudder. Vegeta's hand moved from Yamcha's leg to his lower abdomen as the prince nuzzled his forehead against Yamcha', his eyes still open, watching and breathing in the human like he was – as he was – discovering him for the first time.

The shudder took refuge in Yamcha's feet and remained there. Vegeta laid down kisses on his temple and cheek and Yamcha closed his eyes, finding the eye contact unbearable – he felt too exposed. Vegeta left a trail of kisses from his hairline down to his ear. When the prince slid his tongue along his jawline, Yamcha couldn't help arching his neck back over the backrest of the sofa. As he did, Vegeta suddenly devoured his neck, and Yamcha visibly jumped at the stimulating sensation, letting out a surprised gasp. He felt Vegeta's knees squeeze legs on both sides and realized the prince had climbed on top of him. The trembling of his feet became instantly stronger as the Saiyan's hands travelled up his sides, fingertips brushing against the bare skin under his shirt, and Yamcha found his own hands clutching onto Vegeta's clothes. The prince's kisses alternated between hungry and fervent and soft and svelte, and momentarily he flicked out his tongue, evoking more involuntary sounds and flinches from the human. Yamcha felt his heart was ready to jump out of his chest when the prince cupped his face, pressed a thumb on his chin to coax open his mouth and seized him into a full-fledged kiss.

"Ow! Ow, jeez, back off!"

Vegeta leaned back and stood up from the sofa. He looked down at Yamcha, who covered his mouth with his hands.

"Sheesh, man", the human groaned. "Were you actually trying to tear my lip off? Ow, damn…"

I think I'm beginning to see the root of the problem here, he pondered while licking the inside of his lower lip to ease the throbbing pain. Vegeta frowned and pursed his mouth in a comically immature manner. When Yamcha had tended to his lip, which he bet would have a bruise the following morning, he sighed and said:

"Look, it's not like can't do that at all. Sucking on the lower lip is a nice accent, and Bulma probably likes it, but you should… shouldn't use that quite much force. Also, I recommend you don't involve your teeth."

"Well, show me how to do it then", Vegeta snarled, speaking up for the first time in a while. He seemed annoyed. Yamcha's mouth opened but no sound came out. His body was still quivering. There was a part of him that was intrigued by the idea of continuing where they'd left off, but an even bigger part of him was busy listing reasons why he shouldn't feel intrigued. He couldn't deny the fact that Vegeta's approach just now had made him feel… something. He didn't really know what to call it – it wasn't unpleasant per se, but he didn't exactly feel good either. 'Vulnerable' seemed closest to the truth. And he had a premonition that being subjected to more of that feeling would not end up well for him in the long run. He had already reacted more than he had wanted to, and knowing he wasn't entirely in control of himself made him sincerely frightened – mainly because he had no idea what it might lead to. Suddenly, getting ridiculed by Vegeta for being so weak-willed or easy to manipulate seemed like the nicest outcome.

As Yamcha was trying to get his thoughts together, Vegeta sat back down next to him, arms crossed. Despite feeling very contradicted, Yamcha figured it was best to get to it when the prince was still in a relatively good mood, and when he himself still felt compliant. Before Vegeta could spoil the moment with his comments, he grabbed the Saiyan's head and plunged for his mouth. He thought he heard a stifled murmur of surprise from the other, but the inside of his head was currently such a mess he could very well have imagined it. He tried to picture Bulma, but once again it was impossible – not only because of the way Vegeta felt and sounded and tasted, but also because the sea of unsettling thoughts occupying his brain derived straight from the Saiyan's presence. Yamcha was determined to do his best, though. He went from gentle caresses to vigorous suckling, putting all the colours of the rainbow into the kiss without even using his tongue. That, he thought to himself, was going to need its own lesson, judging by the evidence so far. He ended his performance by enveloping Vegeta's lower lip and pulling it, firmly but gently, before releasing the Saiyan from the liplock.

When he withdrew from the kiss, he was rather pleased with himself. And even Vegeta seemed, for the first time ever in Yamcha's presence, quite impressed. When Yamcha sat back, rubbing his lips with his fingers – his lower lip was still throbbing with the aftermath of Vegeta's rough love – the prince remained in place, eyes widened and staring at Yamcha. Finally, he turned away and scratched his head.

"Hmm", he simply muttered. "Very well."

For the first time that night, Yamcha had a chance to look at Vegeta when the prince's mind was elsewhere. He was deep in thought, but his brow was creaseless and he seemed less stern than usual. Yamcha had probably never seen Vegeta like that – so unalerted.

He suddenly felt very thirsty and suppressed a cough, which drew Vegeta's attention, and when the Saiyan turned to look at him, Yamcha could see the rare moment was over.

"Do you… want a glass of water?" he asked coyly as he stood up from the sofa. Vegeta mumbled, and it could've meant anything, so Yamcha poured two glasses just in case. When he was in the darkness of the kitchen filling the glasses, he realized that beads of sweat were running down his temples, and the behinds of his knees and elbows were slimy with sweat. The t-shirt he was wearing felt tacky and uncomfortable. He brought the glass of water to Vegeta, who took it without a word and emptied it in one go. Yamcha sat down on the sofa with his near-empty glass still in hand. He peeked into the bedroom, where he could make out the clock of the radio. It was almost one in the morning.

"Good session", the prince stated as he put his glass on the corner of the television stand. "I can work with this."

"Call first next time, will you?" remarked Yamcha, realizing only after he'd said it what he had said. It seemed that Vegeta realized it too, for the prince turned his head sharply as Yamcha tried to hide behind his water-glass. Why did he assume there was going to be a next time? Did he just expect it, based on Vegeta's personality? Or did he – no. He hadn't wanted there to be a first time, nor a second time, let alone a next time. Right?

Waiting for Vegeta to comment was, once again, excruciating.

"Good night."

When the door had closed and he was alone again, Yamcha sighed extremely deeply. He hadn't even noticed that he'd been holding his breath ever since he'd told Vegeta to call 'next time'. He was grateful that Vegeta hadn't jumped on his words, but even more he was puzzled. In any other conversation they'd ever had – which weren't numerous – the prince had not bypassed a chance to rag and be nasty to him, especially if he'd said something funny. But ever since Vegeta had presented his request – or demand, more like it – there had been no belittling, no name-calling, no condescending tone or sarcasm. Well, aside the occasional casual threat. But he had even indirectly complimented Yamcha. Unbelievable as it was, it seemed that Vegeta actually, sincerely gave value to Yamcha's wisdom.

Not _a lot_ of value, perhaps, but value nonetheless.

To Vegeta, maybe it really is just about training a skill, Yamcha wondered as he turned on the water of the shower. Maybe he should feel flattered that Vegeta wanted to learn from him, even if the sport was an unusual one.

TBC


	3. Routine and relapse

When Trunks was tucked in bed and Bulma was singing in the shower, washing away the grime of a day spent in the workshop, Vegeta flipped open her mobile phone. He'd seen her use it enough times to know the code to unlock it. His own similar phone in other hand, he browsed her contacts until he found Yamcha's name. It had dawned on him already the previous night, the second he had shut the apartment door behind him, that he didn't have the man's phone number on his contact list. He copied the number, saved it, snapped shut his wife's phone and put it back on the nightstand. Then he exited the bedroom and headed to the gym for a cool-down workout.

He had deliberately drawn out his training that day to ensure he'd come to bed late. Bulma had an early morning, so by the time he'd turn in she would be asleep, or at least almost. He didn't feel like discussing his less than superior attempt at executing Yamcha's advice a couple of nights before with her. Nor did he feel like trying again even after receiving some more training. He wasn't confident enough about his skillset yet – a feeling he wasn't used to and didn't plan on becoming. He wanted to learn more and practice more. The two brief appointments he'd had with Yamcha had revealed that there was a lot he had overlooked, much more than he had initially thought there would be.

Though currently, even more than thirst for knowledge, it was perhaps curiosity concerning the man himself that kept his mind travelling back to the neat sixth-floor apartment. So many questions had stirred after experiencing the contrast between the human's uncertain demeanour and the insightfulness of his touch. Yamcha had been visibly uncomfortable – Vegeta saw the way his hands trembled and his eyes kept wandering away – but even through his reluctance and distress, his virtuosity had been evident the moment he had touched Vegeta. The prince thought back to the way Yamcha's lips and fingers intuitively found their way to places he hadn't even known he enjoyed being touched on, like the underside of his forearm, the hole beneath his earlobe, or the apples of his cheekbones. Would Bulma discover those kinds of things about him too, if he allowed her the time? He recalled how Yamcha's lips had repeatedly claimed his, growing more demanding yet never failing to allow room for response – never ceasing to invite dialogue.

After getting a literal taste of something different Vegeta thought he understood why Bulma would eventually get tired of their repetitive encounters, fervent as they may be. What he didn't understand was that if Yamcha was so good at his thing, why wasn't he more confident about it? Why was he so agonized about getting to show off his talent?

These questions kept replying in Vegeta's head through his routine, all the way to the shower stall and to bed, where Bulma lay sound asleep.

Next morning, after partaking in a munificent breakfast and overseeing his son get picked up for school, Vegeta dialled Yamcha's number.

"Hello?" said Yamcha's voice, in a tone that implied he hadn't recognized the caller by the number. Figures.

"I'll be there tonight", the prince declared without announcing himself. "Some time after eight o'clock."

"Oh, uh – actually, better make that nine o'clock", came a response after a moment of silence. "I have practice today and it might go late."

"Hmph", Vegeta snorted. "That ball game of yours?"

"Yeah, that."

"Hm. Fine. Nine o'clock then", stated Vegeta and ended the call.

At the other end of the line, Yamcha rolled his eyes and shook his head lightly. He shouldn't have been surprised that the prince wasn't much of a chatter.

* * *

When he returned home that night, sports bag on his shoulder, Yamcha found Vegeta standing outside his door in waiting. It was ten minutes past nine. Yamcha could predict he'd be scolded for his tardiness.

"You're late", said Vegeta, and the athlete gave himself a mental reward.

"You're unreasonable", he grumbled back as he fished for his keys in the side pouch of his bag.

They entered the apartment, where Yamcha dropped his bag in the hallway corner and stripped himself of his team jacket, revealing the tight-fitting training top he wore underneath. As he proceeded to remove his shoes, Vegeta fell behind, eyeing the human. His muscles were still pumped from the exercise, and strands of his hair, moist with cooled sweat, were emphasizing his trapezoids as they stuck to his skin. To Vegeta, people always looked their best when they had just finished working out, and it was definitely a complimentary look on Yamcha. Though the human seemed to lack the bliss of post-exercise satisfaction that the endorphin rush usually caused in people. Vegeta could guess why.

"I'll jump in the shower quickly. Just five minutes", Yamcha said as he finished untying his laces.

"No need", Vegeta said, his eyes still on the other man's back.

"Seriously?" Yamcha glanced at him over his shoulder. "I'm all icky and sticky."

"I don't mind", hummed the prince, pushing past Yamcha in the narrow seam of the living room and the hallway, intentionally not giving the other enough space to avoid touching him as he passed. Yamcha looked away.

"Well, suit yourself, I guess", he mumbled. "You better not start complaining about the smell halfway through."

Vegeta sat down on the edge of the sofa and Yamcha suddenly felt really nervous again. Damn, and he'd spent so much time trying to get into a professional state of mind about this. Well, one day. He wiped his forehead on his wrist and clapped his hands together.

"So", he began, forcing a spirited tone into his voice.

"So", repeated Vegeta, emanating calm amusement. Yamcha inhaled. Now he was grateful that Vegeta had stopped him from taking a shower. Maybe the glow of exhaustion would disguise the ruddiness of his cheeks.

"You're back soon", he went on. "I take it you want to practice what we went over last time?"

"Correct", said Vegeta, cocking his head. "Bulma's busy for the rest of the week, so we have plenty of time to perfect my technique."

Though he still felt he'd been treated unfairly, Yamcha found it quite heart-warming that the man was so eager to impress his wife. And to think he had roused that motivation by showing just how good it could be if one put in the needed effort – he couldn't help but feel a little proud.

"What are you waiting for? Get over here", demanded Vegeta, patting the seat next to him impatiently. Yamcha felt his heartbeat quicken. For the love of – he really needed to get his emotions in control! He diverted his eyes from the Saiyan to the small blue notebook lying on the armrest of the sofa. Vegeta was obviously planning on returning again after this lesson. He hadn't exactly agreed to that, but somehow, he didn't feel like objecting – in fact, he had counted on it. Realizing that, he felt a little silly about having planned ahead as diligently as he had. But he was a professional here, wasn't he? He was allowed to act like one.

"Look here", he said as he crossed over and sat down. "You can train with me today, but I should let you know that I'm going to be rather occupied in the following weeks. The world championship games start next month, so my practice schedule is going to get a lot busier. It means that I might not be available whenever you want. So –" Yamcha lifted his index finger as Vegeta was about to protest. "So I'm going to give you a little tip."

Vegeta raised an eyebrow.

"If you can't get a hold of me, you can practice the things we do here on you hand", said Yamcha. He made a loose fist of his right hand and brought it near his mouth. "Here, on the back of your palm. It's not going to kiss you back, of course, but it'll keep stuff fresh in your memory."

The prince frowned at him and crossed his arms, clearly unconvinced. Yamcha knew by now that Vegeta preferred concrete action to lectures, so he decided to show the man exactly what he meant. He closed his eyes and began kissing the back of his hand.

Vegeta stared at the human. Again, the puny, uneasy man transformed into something else the second he set out to demonstrate his expertise. Yamcha turned his head and moved his hand gracefully as he pressed viscous, moist kisses on his skin, his face serene with unwavering concentration. Vegeta couldn't fathom where the human hid this sensuality and charisma the rest of the time, and why. Was he aware of it? Was he conscious of the elegance that shone through when he put his heart into what he was doing?

"Like that", Yamcha concluded as he opened his eyes – and was startled to find Vegeta glare at him with extreme severity, fist raised. When the human jerked, the prince realized that he had unconsciously raised his hand as he had pictured replacing Yamcha's hand with his own. He leered at his clenched fist and put it down, unhurried, then regarded Yamcha again and grunted:

"I want to practice with you."

Yamcha leaned back, but distance didn't make the penetrating eye contact any less pressing. Vegeta's gaze was like a searchlight cast straight into the soul. Yamcha had the unshakeable feeling that whenever the prince looked him in the eyes, he was trying to figure him out somehow, to catch him at a lie, to uncover something hidden. And though he didn't know exactly what the Saiyan was looking for in his eyes, he had no desire to allow him to find it. He glanced sideways and swallowed.

"Okay, whatever", he mumbled. "Anyway, there's something for you to do if I'm busy. If you want. So, should we get to the topic of the day?"

To Vegeta's surprise, the human reached for the little notebook on the armrest. The prince tilted his head in puzzlement as Yamcha turned a couple of pages.

"Aren't we going to repeat what you showed me last time?" he asked.

"Sorry, but no", Yamcha said. "If we're going to do this, we're going to do it systematically. Besides, my lip hasn't yet fully recovered from last time's… accident. We'll get back to that later. All right." Yamcha looked up from his notebook and turned to Vegeta. "Has Bulma kept her hair short?"

"What?"

"Her hair, is it still short? Shorter than mine?"

"Y… yes, it's short", muttered the prince, too flustered to do anything else than reply truthfully.

Yamcha nodded and reached to his pocket, came up with a hair tie and tied his fluffy black hair into a low ponytail. Vegeta kept staring at him through the process, his expression undecipherable. He was debating with himself whether to go along with what Yamcha had in mind or insist on what he had come for. He'd had his mind set on receiving another one of the scarred man's iridescent kisses – to study, of course. But he had to admit he liked seeing the human adopt a more confident status. And like every time he evoked a genuine reaction from him, he felt a sense of accomplishment when he saw Yamcha slightly blush.

"I figured I should mimic her hairstyle", the athlete murmured once finished. Vegeta shrugged.

"I don't see it making much of a difference."

"Well, this time it might", said Yamcha, returning to his notes. "Since tonight's lesson is going to be about ears."

"Ears?" asked the prince. "What have they got to do with kissing?"

"Oh boy, a whole lot", Yamcha chuckled, allowing himself to grin. Bulma was going to be very happy.

* * *

Three weeks later, on a crispy Wednesday morning, when returning from his run, Yamcha opened the door to find the ringtone of his phone chiming in the empty apartment. He kicked his running shoes off his feet and went to the kitchen, where the phone's vibrating function was making the entire dining table quake and clatter. He wondered if Vegeta was calling to pester him about when he'd be free. He'd been busy with practice for the past days and had missed a call from him. He picked up the phone and was surprised to see who the caller was.

"Bulma, hi", he answered after taking a second to catch his breath.

"Finally! I was beginning to worry."

Upon hearing her voice, Yamcha realized just how long it had been since he had last spoken with her. He couldn't even tell where it had been that they'd last met. It would have been either at the annual summer barbecue at Capsule Corp, or at Kuririn's housewarming party… Oh, it couldn't have been in the summer. He had missed the barbecue that year because he'd had a game – it had been the day of the regional championship finals. Which none of his friends had come to see because they had all been at Capsule Corp. So it must have been at Kuririn's that he'd last seen Bulma, making it… six months prior.

"Sorry, I… I was out", he explained absent-mindedly, still thinking of the events of the summer.

"Don't worry about it", she said, her voice trailing off. She sounded uneasy, not her usual chirpy self. "I… I have something I need to ask you. It's kind of weird… How should I put this… Has Vegeta been in touch with you recently, by any chance?"

The question caught Yamcha completely by surprise. He'd assumed Vegeta had kept it from Bulma that he'd been to Yamcha's place to ask for love advice, but he didn't know whether it was actually a secret. Was he allowed to disclose it? Vegeta hadn't said anything about telling or not telling her. Looking back now, it was peculiar that the prince hadn't been more specific. He was usually very strict about his pride, and learning to suck face with another guy – heck, learning _anything_ from someone like Yamcha – didn't seem like the kind of thing he would boast about, least of all to his wife.

"I know it's crazy", Bulma hurried to explain when Yamcha didn't reply, "but it's just that, lately he's really been stepping up his game in the… in the petting department, you know? Well, you probably don't want to know – but anyway, some time ago I chewed him out on his lack of romancing skills, and since then, he's really shaped up. And some of the things he's done have reminded me… of you. Yeah, this might be insane but I figured I'd ask. Has he been in touch?"

Admitting she was right embarrassed Yamcha, but the thought of denying the fact made him feel guilty, like he was doing something forbidden behind her back. He knew from experience that seemingly insignificant lies always led to bigger, increasingly significant lies. And he sure as hell wasn't going to get himself into an arrangement where Vegeta would have leverage over him. If anyone was going to have their feelings hurt because of the prince's whims, it wasn't going to be him.

"Yes", he finally said, his voice coming out smaller than he'd intended. He cleared his throat. "Yes, as a matter of fact, he has."

"Oh God", Bulma moaned and Yamcha could see her grimacing in his mind's eye. "That's my fault. I told him he could learn something from you about kissing – I didn't think he'd take it literally! Oh man, I'm sorry. That must've been the most awkward conversation _ever_. I'll make it up to you somehow."

"No, that's okay..."

"He wasn't a jerk to you about it, was he? If he was, I'm going to kick his ass."

"It's fine, really", Yamcha reassured her, smiling to add emphasis. "Sure it was a bit odd, but… it's fine. I'm happy it was useful."

"You bet your pretty little ass it was", Bulma said, back to her sassy self now that the uncomfortable topic had been resolved. "But hey, now that we're talking, how are you? It's been quite a while since I've seen you. What's up?"

Yamcha was happy she asked. He told her how it was pretty much the same old, keeping it brief.

"The world championships are just around the corner, aren't they? I mean, you guys have definitely qualified, right?"

"Yeah", Yamcha answered. He'd won the regionals for his team easily even though he'd been feeling under the weather for missing the chance to meet up with his friends. He'd won every single game ever since he began, and he'd been elected Most Valuable Player in four consecutive years – every year since he'd returned to the sport after Cell was defeated. He had enjoyed the success at first, but the game didn't challenge him anymore, if it ever had. He kept playing only for the income, which he hardly spent.

"I knew you would", she said, sounding proud. "It's been ages since we've been to a game. Do you think you could get us tickets for the finals? I bet Trunks would really enjoy it now that he's old enough to understand the rules. He's been really interested in sports, recently. He watches all kinds of games from the sport channels. But it's not really fair to enrol him in any clubs at his school – I mean, with the training he's got from Vegeta, he's just too damn strong. It's unfair to the other kids. Maybe you could play with him sometime? He'd have a proper opponent in you!"

And I'd have one in him, Yamcha mused. Listening to Bulma ask about him and sound genuinely interested in his life made him feel warm and light inside.

"I haven't met the little firecracker in a while", he said, smiling. "He's what, six years old now? Has he already crossed the threshold to Super Saiyan?"

"Not yet, thank God", Bulma sighed. "But I'd say it's only a matter of time, if Gohan's development is a liable basis for comparison. Vegeta trains him a lot. I guess he's got nothing better to do, with Goku gone. He's got no competition. I guess it's a bit hard to stay motivated, huh? Speaking of which…"

Her tone changed suddenly, reverting back to the shy whisper she had begun with.

"If… if you don't mind", she mumbled bashfully, "in case… Vegeta turns up again, asking questions – if it's all right with you, could you… I mean, I wouldn't mind if he learned more from you."

Yamcha's jaw dropped.

"But only if that's okay with you!" Bulma exclaimed. "You really don't have to if you don't want to, and I totally get it if you don't. He can be a prick."

Bulma didn't appear to realize that he had a still ongoing arrangement with the prince. What would happen if he refused her here? Would it mean anything to Vegeta? And if the prince didn't care about his refusal, like he probably wouldn't, then Yamcha would truly be hiding things from her, wouldn't he?

And… did he want Vegeta to stop visiting?

"Sure", he found himself saying before he'd come to any conclusion with himself.

"Really? You're really okay with that?"

"Yeah, no problem", he replied. "I don't mind… answering his questions. I'm – I'm glad if I can be of help."

"Help? You have no idea", she said, lowering her voice. "The difference it's made is _insane_. It's like being in the honeymoon phase all over again! You know when you've just met someone and you keep wondering just what kind of things they like, what weird stuff might tickle their kinky bone? And how you're looking forward to the night to see just what they're going to do this time…! I'm telling you, it's so exciting! I can hardly keep my hands off him. Just last night he –"

"Okay, getting weird now", Yamcha said, grinning like he was supposed to, though it was contrived.

"Ugh, I know, I'm sorry!" Bulma wheezed, trying to suppress her excitement. Yamcha smiled wistfully. She sounded like a peppy teenager, telling her best friend about her crush. For some time after their break-up, that's what he had been to her, the friend who knew every good and bad thing about her. One whom she could trust with any secret, one for whom she didn't need to uphold any façade. But as time had passed, they had drifted apart – she had become close to Vegeta, eventually marrying him, and the prince had become her new confidant. She had no longer needed Yamcha… until now, apparently.

"Well anyway, if you did that, I'd be so grateful!" she sighed, her voice full of happiness. "Yamcha, you are the _best_. I'll do something real nice for you in exchange. Promise! I need to go now, I've got a tech conference to attend. Boring stuff, but innovations aren't going to produce themselves, right? It was great talking to you! We need to get together. Don't forget to get us those tickets! It's, like, already October? Ugh, I hope the best seats aren't sold out by now. They can spare three front row seats to the MVP, can't they?"

"Sure", he said again. She said her goodbyes, all bubbly and perky, and hung up. Yamcha let his hand fall slowly to his side, still clutching the phone. He was certain he ought to have felt somehow exploited, or at least offended. What she had asked wasn't appropriate, was it? Yet when she had expressed her wish for him to continue coaching Vegeta, he had felt… relieved. Was it only because he had feared that she'd be sour about finding out about their meetings? Of course, Yamcha hadn't elaborated just how it was that he went about 'answering Vegeta's questions'. If she knew that much, would she still have asked him to continue?

Yamcha was pretty sure Bulma was confident enough in her marriage to not get jealous about what they were doing. It was about training for her sake, after all. It's not like they were having an affair, right? Yamcha considered himself liberal enough – he'd fallen for men in the past, had even made out with some, although he'd never been in a relationship with one. He didn't know about Vegeta's preferences, but it appeared he didn't have a problem sticking his tongue in another man's mouth. But if there wasn't real attraction they weren't doing anything wrong, right? And there wasn't… right?

Yamcha shook his head. He was overthinking things, wasn't he? Vegeta's standing on intimacy was clearly different from his. He wanted to become a better kisser and was using Yamcha as a practice partner, that's all. It wasn't personal.

* * *

As if his thoughts weren't already preoccupied with Vegeta, when Yamcha was on his way to the ballpark after lunch, his phone rang.

"Tonight, nine o'clock", Vegeta stated, in his usual unapologetic manner.

"Tonight's no good, I'm afraid", Yamcha told him. "I'll be at practice until late."

"What, again?" The prince sniffed into the receiver. "You're never available when I need you."

"Well, excuse me for having a job", said Yamcha cheekily, turning up his nose. Though their relationship had become a bit more relaxed, Yamcha still didn't like how Vegeta took his cooperativeness for granted. "I'm not on stand-by for you. Besides, I told you I was going to get busy. World championships start in a couple of weeks, so –"

"What time will you be home?" Vegeta asked.

"Late", Yamcha grumbled.

"What time?"

"I could do tomorrow", Yamcha offered, but he could tell that the prince probably wouldn't agree to postpone. He was right. The call ended in Yamcha's defeat, like most of their conversations did. As Yamcha put down his phone, he winced. He had wanted to mention the call he'd received from Bulma, just to make sure they were on the same page, but Vegeta's pestering had made him forget. Well, if it spoiled his mood later that night, the impatient Saiyan would only have himself to blame.

Quarter past ten o'clock that evening, when Yamcha returned from his baseball practice, Vegeta was waiting for him outside his apartment.

"Oh no, you don't get to call me out on being late", he exclaimed before the visitor could speak. "I told you I'd be later than usual today, but you insisted."

Vegeta pouted in silence as Yamcha opened the door. Whatever smart rebuke he'd come up while waiting was wasted.

"Don't bother showering", Vegeta said abruptly in the hallway as Yamcha pulled off his sweater.

"What's the rush?" the human asked, frowning. Then he smirked and added: "Or do you just like it when I smell like the ballpark?"

Vegeta said nothing, just sulked. Yamcha shrugged and went to the kitchen to fetch himself a cold drink.

"So, I heard last night was a success", he hollered from the kitchen.

"What do you mean?"

"I got a call from Bulma this morning", Yamcha said as he opened the bottle of mineral water. He had no idea what Vegeta would think. He was fully prepared to get a lecture for the spilling the beans – and to defend himself. "She asked whether you had seen me for advice… and I told her you had."

He was expecting an enraged 'you what', followed by slew of curses and possibly a constricting hand in the immediate proximity of his throat. But none of that came – instead, there was a few seconds' silence and then Vegeta's nonchalant voice.

"So?"

Yamcha peeked from the kitchen into the living room, where Vegeta was standing, completely calm. Their eyes locked. The Saiyan stared at him and shrugged.

"So she knows. And?"

"You – you don't mind?" asked Yamcha, perplexed.

"Why would I? She's the one who suggested it."

Only figuratively, Yamcha thought to himself. He was amazed that Vegeta didn't even budge at the discovery that Bulma knew exactly where his newfound finesse in courtship originated.

"Well, okay then", mumbled the human, scratching the back of his head. "That's enough of that. I just thought I'd let you know that she knows."

He took a generous drink of his water. During the five meetings they'd had in the past four weeks, the atmosphere between him and the prince had eased up a little. Vegeta still didn't exchange pleasantries and wouldn't listen to his opinions regarding anything else than his oral performance. There was always the initial weirdness when he started teaching, but Yamcha had managed to get himself in a skill-training mode, which made things a little less awkward. Sure, he still experienced a certain hue of thrill whenever they got at each other's mouths, but he could subdue it and keep his composure. Or he usually could. Vegeta was, as could be expected, a vigorous learner. But even when his emotions would start getting away with themselves, knowing that the prince was picturing Bulma in his stead gave Yamcha a sense of safety.

He wouldn't admit it if asked, but nowadays he was looking forward to these meetings, mostly because it was refreshing to have something bring change to his dull day-to-day life, but partly because getting kissed and touched and petted just felt _good_. And Vegeta was getting very good at doing it. The previous week, Yamcha had finally began teaching him things to do with his tongue, and even with all his willpower, he hadn't been able to stop himself from jolting when Vegeta's tongue had first entered his mouth.

"So anyway, why couldn't this wait?" he asked after he had finished his drink and set the empty bottle on the kitchen counter. "Did something happen last night you wanted to ask about?"

For some reason, Vegeta didn't reply right away. He took the time to turn his face away before answering – had Yamcha paid a little closer attention, he might have recognized evasion in his tone of voice.

"Nothing in particular", the prince muttered. "It just happens that Bulma is away on some work-related trip overnight. Good training time."

"Oh", said Yamcha, finding the Saiyan's reasoning anti-climactic yet very typical. "Then I guess we… Wait. If she's away and you're here, who's watching Trunks? You – you didn't leave him home alone, did you?"

Vegeta snorted loudly as he turned to face Yamcha again.

"Of course not", the prince snapped. "He's having a sleep-over at the Son's."

Relieved that the child was properly taken care of, Yamcha dropped the topic. He tied his hair back as they kneeled on the floor, on top of the soft white rug, as had become their routine in the past couple of lessons. He browsed his blue notebook. He had a dozen pages worth of notes about French kissing. The previous time, he had shown Vegeta some individual gestures that he knew Bulma to enjoy. Clearly he had not been in the wrong about them.

"So, Frenching is really all about communication", he began. "The stuff I showed you last week is all good material, but the real knack is to be in dialogue with your partner; to incite, to sense and to react. And there are no real tricks or secrets to that, it only takes experimenting. So, I was thinking that today, I could initiate different things, imitate the kind of things she might do and… and you can just feel about and react and do whatever feels like is the right thing to do. All right?"

Vegeta was, again, silent for a moment before he spoke. He squinted slightly as he looked at Yamcha, appearing… suspicious, somehow? Yamcha wondered what was causing the prince's unhabitual behaviour, even going as far as to ask if there was something stuck on his face that the other was bothered by.

"Do whatever I feel is the right thing to do. Yes?" Vegeta finally spoke, repeating Yamcha's words slowly. The human nodded and stuttered his concession. What was up with Vegeta today? While he pondered, the Saiyan dragged himself closer on the floor until their knees were laced. He then brought his hands on each side of Yamcha's face and gently pulled him closer as he himself leaned over. Both closed their eyes. Vegeta swiped a stray strand of hair behind the human's ear as he softly brushed his mouth over Yamcha's. He repeated the tender gesture a few times, gradually seizing more of the other's lips between his own, before tilting his head to the side and opening his mouth wider to claim the other's mouth completely. Yamcha responded collectedly, allowing Vegeta to lead the interaction. Like Bulma often would, he put one hand on Vegeta's back and slid the other up the nape of his neck before settling it on at the base of his skull, his fingers burrowing into the thicket of black hair.

Yamcha felt a thumb on his chin, coaxing him to open his mouth wider, and he complied. Vegeta's tongue brushed the inside of his cheek, quickly at first, then slowly, dragging its whole surface against the wall of his mouth. And there it was again, the familiar tingling filling him from the inside. Ignoring it, Yamcha reciprocated by sliding the tip of his own tongue along the underline of Vegeta's. The prince reacted, and their tongues circled each other, until Vegeta gobbled Yamcha's tongue entirely. The unexpectedly strong stimuli made Yamcha flinch and gasp. The warrior then withdrew just enough to be able to turn his head to the other side and devoured the human's mouth again, his tongue trailing along the other's palate. Yamcha reacted avidly, then proceeded to goad the other with gestures of his own. Soon he found his hands were travelling around Vegeta's body, and the prince wrapped his arms around the human, pulling them both up to stand on their knees. They sucked and licked each other's lips covetously, and Yamcha forgot all about trying to imitate Bulma – his thoughts were all about the rocky pectorals he was pressed against, the huge arms around his waist and the salty, moist lips between his.

Then he felt a shove against his chest and he fell backwards. Vegeta's hand supported his neck and placed his head gently on the floor. Once safely down, the prince tore his mouth away from Yamcha's and started kissing his neck, one hand slipping under his shirt. The other hand slid down the back of his head, pulled off his hair tie and proceeded to caress his cheek. Yamcha gasped and groaned despite himself as Vegeta's lips gobbled and pinched his sensitive skin and the prince's demanding tongue glided along his neck in long, stimulating strokes. He felt hot and the tingling sensation inside him intensified. Hearing Vegeta's low murmurs and heavy breathing titillated him further, and he suddenly became aware of how genuinely turned on he was. He was quick to scold himself: Don't be stupid, he told himself – Vegeta is giving it his all, he's really committing to his goals. I'm only supposed to counterpoise. This isn't about me. This is about –

His trail of thought was interrupted when he made a stunning realization. In their past meetings, Vegeta would replicate how he would touch Bulma, touching his waist and neck and such – but right now, the Saiyan's fingers were rubbing against his abdominal muscles, and the thumb of his other hand was stroking the scar of his cheek. Bulma had no scars or abs to speak of. Which had to mean that Vegeta was not in fact picturing his wife, but was fully aware who the person beneath him was, and was doing these things intentionally to him. To _Yamcha_.

Vegeta ran his tongue up the side of Yamcha's neck, and the human conformed and turned his face away. He moaned as the moist tongue glossed over his ear and his earlobe was pinched between the Saiyan's lips. As Vegeta nibbled, Yamcha yelped out loud – and quickly covered his mouth with one hand. Knowing that Vegeta was concentrated on him, that the prince was in the moment just as much as he, filled Yamcha with an uncontrollable ardour. The fingers fondling his body were fondling _him_. The mouth kissing his ear was kissing _him_. And it all felt so good yet scary. He inhaled and exhaled heavily through his nose, pressing his hand over his mouth to stifle the involuntary sounds he couldn't hold back. But Vegeta would have none of that. The prince parted with Yamcha's ear, lifted himself slightly and used one hand to grab the human's wrist and to pin it to the floor beside him. With his other hand, Vegeta gripped Yamcha by the chin and turned his head back upwards. Then he reclaimed the now uncovered mouth, plunging his tongue inside the warm, wet opening. And Yamcha couldn't help but respond with equal passion, running his free hand all over Vegeta's back.

As their tongues wrestled, it dawned on Yamcha that he was becoming aroused to the extent it would soon be evident to the other party as well. Blood packed in his groin area and his underwear felt tighter by the second. Oh shit, God, no, he thought to himself. What would Vegeta say if he realized Yamcha was getting hard? Surely, that's where he would draw the line. If he moved back even a little, or if he decided to run his hand down Yamcha's front again – no, that he didn't want to happen. No, no. Just no.

Yamcha opened his eyes and yanked his face away from Vegeta.

"Stop", he whispered, voice breathy, "Vegeta, stop. That's – that's enough. Vegeta."

The prince stopped moving – and after a second, lifted himself up. As soon as he had the mobility, Yamcha sat up and retracted. For a moment the two sat still, catching their breaths, until Yamcha dared to look up. So did Vegeta, and for an instant they looked each other in the eyes. Seeing Vegeta there, chest heaving, lips slightly parted, cheeks rosy, looking at him, shook Yamcha. He diverted his eyes, which were blurry for some reason. He forced a smile and a small laugh.

"Wow", he panted. "I'll say, that was – you have – wow. No wonder Bulma called me."

Vegeta muttered in agreement, uneasy. Looking away from Yamcha, he cleared his throat and sat back.

"Naturally", he said quietly and wiped his mouth. For a minute, they sat in awkward silence.

"So, uh… Do you want to… settle the next meeting?" Yamcha asked finally, his voice thin.

"Why not", said Vegeta in a colourless voice. "Saturday fine with you?"

Yamcha began a word and then decided not to say it. His teammates were planning on going out for drinks after practice on Saturday. He had been looking forward to it. As good as it had felt to be embraced, he wasn't ready to give up his scarce social events for Vegeta's sake just yet.

"Sorry", he whispered. "Sunday?"

The prince sniffled and rose to his feet.

"I'm unavailable", he stated. "I'll call."

TBC


	4. Bases loaded

Yamcha was lying on his bed, on top of the covers, staring at the blinking numbers of the radio alarm clock on the nightstand. They changed regularly as minutes passed. Next to him on the pillow, only a finger's distance from his face, was his mobile phone. Finally, when all four digits on the radio screen read zero, he sighed and turned on his back, his strained eyes finding comfort in the dull greyness of the ceiling.

It was now officially Wednesday. It had been more a whole week since Vegeta's last visit. He had said he'd be in touch, but seven days later, he still hadn't called. Initially Yamcha had been troubled by the imminent phone call, for he hadn't known what to think of the fact that Vegeta had seemed – what should he call it – interested in him. But now, after so long had passed, he was more uncomfortable with the fact there had been no contact at all.

A couple of days before, Yamcha had realized that there was a high probability that he had completely misinterpreted Vegeta's actions. Yes, the prince had clearly acknowledged him and had undoubtedly been rather… passionate. But then again, Yamcha had specifically emphasized the meaning of contact when giving advice about French kissing. Of course, he hadn't meant for Vegeta to establish a genuine connection with _him_ , but at home with his actual partner – but Vegeta had a bad habit of taking people's words literally. He might have just misunderstood. And thus, Yamcha had misunderstood.

It seemed obvious in hindsight. Vegeta's attitude towards him was probably still as platonic and nonchalant as ever.

As for himself, for the past few days, Yamcha had been waiting by the phone, hoping it would ring. The one time it had, the ringtone had sent his heart fluttering, but the caller had been just his manager. And today, on his day off, he had made no plans or left the house, wishing that Vegeta would happen to call on him when for once he would have been energized, clean and dressed nicely.

But it was past midnight now. Vegeta wasn't going to call. Yamcha sighed, got on his feet and crossed the short distance from his bed to the bathroom.

He looked at himself in the mirror. He was wearing a burgundy blouse and simple, tightly fitted black trousers – an attire that, while seeming like no thought had gone into picking it out, was unmistakeably flattering on him. His hair descended past his shoulders in fluffy waves, like they did on the rare occasion he let them dry as they were, which took well into three hours, instead of using a blow-dryer.

When he saw himself like that, all pretty and polished, he felt ridiculous. For the first time it properly sunk in that currently, the pinnacle of his social life was getting an occasional visit from a married man who would stick his tongue down his throat and then go home, re-inspired, to make love to his wife.

He chuckled weakly and pressed his forehead against the cool surface of the mirror. Laughable as his standing was, there was something sentimental, almost precious, about it. How long had it been since he had last looked forward to somebody's visits like this? He looked into his own eyes from under his brow. He told his reflection, and it told him:

"You, my friend, are redefining the meaning of pathetic."

After brushing his teeth, he returned to the bedroom and rid himself of the nice clothes. He put on his night shirt and slipped under the blanket.

Just when he had turned off the light of his bedside lamp, his phone – now relocated on the nightstand – started ringing. Yamcha jumped up. He blinked at the blinding screen light in the darkness and his heart skipped a beat. Vegeta was calling.

All the excitement he had just managed to send out of the way of gloominess and self-pity returned instantly. Pulse racing, he answered the phone.

"Tomorrow, you free?" came the familiar, straightforward voice.

"Yeah", replied Yamcha, discovering that one's voice could audibly quiver on a single-syllable word. "I should be home around six."

"I'll be there at eight", said Vegeta and hung up.

He hadn't sounded any different from his usual self. This seemed to confirm Yamcha's assumptions – that any alleged interest from Vegeta's part had been a mere misunderstanding. Then again, the prince was excellent at appearing aloof, even when he was troubled. He always carried the same, monotonous tone, and anger and glee were the only sentiments he didn't bother to mask.

The athlete laid back on his bed, wide awake, heart still beating fast. Vegeta had made a habit of never catching him on the days he had morning practice, and then chewing him out on his late arrivals. Of course, this once when the prince made an exception, he let Yamcha know late at night. The human knew getting a restful sleep now was an attempt doomed to fail.

The following night, promptly at eight o'clock, the doorbell rang. Yamcha jumped up from the couch, then paused to wait for a few seconds before going to the door – he didn't want to appear like he'd been laying in waiting, even though he had. For twenty-five minutes. He opened the door.

Before saying anything, Vegeta looked him up and down, frowning. Yamcha pursed his mouth. Not wanting to seem like he was putting on airs, he had deliberately picked out the most unflattering garments he owned, loose slacks and an ill-fitting pullover the colour of overcooked asparagus. Vegeta gave his apparel a long look.

"Laundry day?" the prince asked nonchalantly.

"Y… yeah", confirmed the human, as the Saiyan passed by him into the hallway. Either Vegeta really didn't read into his exaggerated informality or he was being incredibly discreet. When Vegeta exited the hallway into the living room, Yamcha followed him silently, wringing his hands.

Usually, one of them might have commented on the long interval that had passed between their last meeting and this one. But Yamcha, still harbouring some concern that Vegeta had deliberately avoided him for an entire week, couldn't bring himself to mention it. The prince didn't bring it up it either, and Yamcha couldn't tell whether it was because he didn't want to speak of it or because it simply didn't matter.

Vegeta never talked much outside their exercises, so now that Yamcha wasn't making small talk, silence surrounded them. As the human fiddled with his notebook, the prince sat down on the sofa, like usual. He seemed to act normal. Yamcha, on the other hand, was bothered by the atmosphere. He felt like he should apologize for misreading the signs the previous time. But if his assumptions were correct, Vegeta wouldn't understand why he'd do that, and if that was the case, it was better that he didn't explain. The level of anticipation he'd been in for the past week was best kept secret from the prince.

Before Yamcha could begin awkwardly muttering about the next topic in line, the Saiyan beat him to it and said:

"Bulma wants me to kiss her upside down. What's that all about?"

The mention of Bulma's name made Yamcha feel unexpectedly odd. At some point, all the worrying about the prince's and his own emotions had made him forget that, in a way, she was as big a part of this arrangement as they were. He was surprised by the sentiment that took over when reminded of her. He suddenly felt hollow and somehow detached from his body. Yamcha attempted to brush the discomfort away and only then registered the rest of Vegeta's words.

"Oh yeah, she does like that sort of thing", he mumbled. It had been a kink of Bulma's, one that Yamcha himself didn't enjoy. He didn't like the dizziness hanging his head down caused, nor the constant swallowing he was forced to do if he didn't want to outright drool into her mouth. And, if struggling with gravity and saliva wasn't enough of a turn-off, he was so overtly conscious of the risk of teeth clashing that he could never fully relax and lose himself in the moment. This was a topic he would have preferred to leave uncovered – though he had listed it in his notebook as one of so-called 'special manoeuvres'. After all, the point was to teach Vegeta stuff _she_ liked.

"It's a little tricky", he spoke up, wincing slightly in expectance of the unpleasant experience. "Being upside down might make you feel funny, and you have to be careful with your teeth. Like, _really_ careful. But, I guess it's a good chance to review softer qualities. We haven't gone over those in a while."

Yamcha went around the sofa, positioning himself directly behind Vegeta. He told him to lean back, but the prince stood up instead.

"You're standing in for her, so you should be sitting down", the Saiyan remarked.

Vegeta might have uttered those words on any previous occasion and Yamcha wouldn't have thought of them twice, but tonight, they felt very meaningful. So... he really was only a stand-in for Bulma.

Not truly knowing if he was relieved or disappointed by the assurance, Yamcha nodded and moved over before he could properly consider Vegeta's suggestion. They switched places, and Yamcha sat far back on the sofa. It wasn't until he saw the dim shadow of the prince over him, cast by the light coming from the bedroom behind them, that it hit him how much he would have preferred for their roles to be reversed. Had he been the one standing up, he would have had more control. Being stuck between the backrest and Vegeta's face wouldn't leave much room for him to turn his head or do any corrections for that matter, so he had no choice but to trust the Saiyan's restraint – which sounded like some of those famous last words.

Yamcha wondered if Bulma had specifically told Vegeta to ask him about this. After all, Vegeta's roughness had been one of the main issues he had been assigned to fix – the prince might well accidentally knock their teeth together if he wasn't careful enough. A chill ran up Yamcha's spine as he imagined it. If he couldn't help but feel unsafe with her, with whom he'd done it several times, how was he supposed to forgo his concern with Vegeta?

"So, uh", he said, turning to look at the man behind him. "Let's just take it really slow, okay? Kissing doesn't work quite the same when one of the mouths is the wrong way around. So just be extra careful in the beginning, especially about teeth. Also, when you're hanging your head, all the… uh, the stuff in your mouth runs down, so… take notice of that."

Vegeta nodded. Yamcha leaned back and arched his neck over the backrest. This other position wasn't very comfortable either. His neck was more muscled and stiff than Bulma's, too. After placing Vegeta's hands on each side of his neck, he looked up coyly and saw Vegeta's upside-down face looking down at him. The prince was frowning slightly, as if trying to figure out how to begin. Seeing his uncertainty only increased Yamcha's uneasiness.

"Uh", he sounded just as Vegeta seemed about to descend, "o-one more thing. Just… mind the teeth, okay?"

"You already said that", the prince said neutrally.

Hands cupping Yamcha's jaw, Vegeta lowered his head and put his lips on the human's tentatively, feeling out the unfamiliar position. After a couple of soft pecks he seized the other's lips, and Yamcha pinched his eyes shut. Contrary to his expectations, Vegeta was remarkably conscientious. Even at weird angles, he kept his composure and took the time to feel his way. The prince's hands stroke the athlete's cheeks, occasionally sliding down and around his neck, fingers pressing against the scalp and burying themselves in his hair. Nothing he wouldn't have been able to do with Bulma.

The only unpleasant thing to happen was a short instant when the edges of their upper teeth lightly scraped against each other. But even that one brief collision was enough to put Yamcha on the edge. Without realizing, he tensed the muscles of his face and shoulder area, which added to the already straining posture. His neck and jaw ached, making him squirm and grimace. The position only became more painful as time passed, so he was grateful that it didn't last long – after only about a minute and a half, the prince withdrew and straightened his back. The human let his chin fall low to his chest and rubbed the back of his neck.

"That was really good", he groaned, trying to sound chipper. "That's the way to start. When you get used to it, you can gradually add more energy and tongue and all that."

"But?" asked Vegeta. Yamcha turned to look at him, puzzled. The Saiyan was looking down at him, arms crossed, mouth taut.

"No buts", the human muttered. "That was perfect."

"You were discontent", said the prince slowly, squinting his eyes. Yamcha realized that his apparent discomfort may have made Vegeta feel like he was doing something wrong.

"Ah, no!" he hurried to explain. "It's just that – my neck didn't agree with the position and, well, I don't really care for this sort of thing in the first place. But Bulma loves it – and you did everything right. She's bound to be happy."

The Saiyan loomed over him like a dark cloud, and Yamcha felt once again like his mind was being read. With all the tension of the bygone week packed up inside him, being subjected to such perusal was especially distressing. He excused himself and went to the kitchen, saying he wanted to get a drink – a blatant lie which probably didn't go unnoticed.

Vegeta's leer followed the human until he was out of sight. The Saiyan wiped his mouth. So Yamcha disliked this particular gimmick – that probably explained why the kiss just now had roused nothing like the zeal he had experienced the previous time. Vegeta recalled how the human would shiver when their bodies touched, the way his voice had broken out when the prince had caught him off-guard. Tonight, Yamcha had been increasingly reserved throughout the whole affair. And Vegeta now understood clearly that it was breaking through that reserve that gave him the sense of excitement that he found so satisfying. More than that – it thrilled him. He yearned for it.

Whether Bulma would like this gesture or not felt irrelevant to him. If it didn't serve the purpose of bringing down Yamcha's veneer, he wasn't interested in it.

A shiver ran up Vegeta's spine.

"So, do you want to try again?" asked Yamcha as he emerged from the kitchen. Rotating and stretching his neck had eased the stiffness and he figured he could tolerate another go – he felt like he owed it to the prince, since his inconvenience seemed to have made Vegeta second-guess himself when there had been no reason.

"No", Vegeta stated resolutely and stomped to the hallway. Yamcha stopped in his tracks.

"You – you're leaving?" he asked, baffled. It hadn't been twenty minutes since the prince had arrived. "Already?"

"Yes", said Vegeta from the door without turning to look at him. "This was enough. Good night."

As the door slammed shut, Yamcha felt strangely light-headed. He went back into the kitchen and sat down at the small dining table. He inhaled and exhaled, and the air exiting his lungs seemed to take some of the pressure he'd built up inside with it.

Vegeta didn't feel weirded out. It was still all about Bulma. Everything was still normal. Well, if you could call their arrangement normal to begin with.

Despite a hint of tightness in his chest that he couldn't quite identify, Yamcha was relieved.

Two days later, on Friday, Yamcha was at his morning practice. It was the final week of training before the world championship tournament would start. He was sitting down on the bench, watching his teammates swing in the batter's boxes, when he heard faint buzzing – the vibrating of his phone. He dug the device out of his bag. Vegeta, who else. He snuck away, outside the stadium, to answer.

"Finally! Tonight, nine o'clock", sounded Vegeta's voice, unusually charged, from the speaker.

"Sorry, I can't tonight, I have a previous engagement", said Yamcha apologetically. He could hear Vegeta curse under his breath.

"Don't tell me you'll be at your damn ball game practice again", the prince complained. He sounded agitated. It was the first time Yamcha's schedule had made him so upset. "Why do you even go? I've seen you play, you could beat any player with your eyes closed. You don't need to train!"

Yamcha was surprised. He wasn't sure if he was being complimented or scolded. Since when had Vegeta paid attention – sure, he'd seen a couple of games, but since when had he actually watched? And since when had he cared one way or another?

"I – I'm not at practice tonight, in fact", Yamcha said after a short silence. "I have other plans. Just so you know."

"Tomorrow then", Vegeta grumbled.

"Well, tomorrow I'll be late. How about Sunday? I don't have any –"

"Tomorrow." The prince's voice was a low growl, the kind that would not be negotiated with. Yamcha sighed his agreement and the call ended. Lingering in his spot by the stadium gates, he fell deep in thought.

Why was Vegeta so distraught about him not being available today, of all days, he wondered. It's not like Yamcha couldn't have rescheduled if he'd wanted to – but the horror movie marathon with Kuririn was a tradition, and one of the few regular activities he still had with his friends. Kuririn had arranged time for their night together despite having a new family, including a baby daughter, and he'd managed to do it just before the world championship season kicked off, too. Yamcha wasn't going to let that gesture go to waste because of Vegeta's whinges.

But even more than that, Yamcha was bothered by what the prince had said about his not needing to practice. He was right. Yamcha was by far the best player in the whole league. His history as a martial artist put him in a class of his own – what with the training he had received from the best mentors in this world and the next. The other players didn't stand a chance.

He often felt guilty about it. On especially hard days, he deliberately underperformed out of solidarity towards his teammates, to make the other players look better. It made him feel good about himself momentarily, but by the following day, the guilt would be back, even worse.

I guess I'll have to come up with an excuse to miss tomorrow's party, he mused as he walked slowly back to the bench. It would be the final day of practice before the tournament, and celebration was in order. It was a nice occasion, and Yamcha thought he should have argued more with Vegeta. But the Saiyan never cared if he objected to anything. That was an aspect of their relationship that he wasn't happy hadn't changed.

The next day, when he tried to skip out on the party, his teammates wouldn't hear it. They insisted he come along, even for a short while, just long enough to raise a glass and have a bite. Yamcha was touched by their relentlessness, so he sent Vegeta a message saying he probably wouldn't be home before midnight.

When he touched down on the street where he lived, thirty-five minutes past eleven, Yamcha was in good spirits. He'd had a good time at the party, and the couple of cocktails hadn't hurt either. It was a cool, clear night and wind was blowing. Yamcha had zipped his team jacket as well as his coat all the way to the top while flying. He enjoyed flying over the city at night. Watching the sea of lights had been particularly satisfying tonight, maybe because he hadn't done it in a while.

Even though he was early from the time he had given Vegeta, the prince was nevertheless waiting for him on the sixth floor corridor. He was wearing a leather jacket over his typical set of clothes – apparently the cold weather of late autumn had finally caught up with him. His arms were crossed and one of his fingers was tapping restlessly. He leered at Yamcha from under his brow and looked sour.

"Finally here", the Saiyan grumbled, not bothering to disguise his contempt. Yamcha frowned internally. All things considered, he had been more than generous with his time, more often than not agreeing to meet with Vegeta late at night, after a long day or despite having an early morning. This once he had changed the schedule – not unannounced, mind you – and the prince acted like he'd been stood up. There was just no pleasing this guy, was there?

"It's not my fault if you're early. I told you the time, well in advance", Yamcha said as he opened the door. He didn't feel like rising up to the provocation, though – he didn't want to let his good spirits get ruined by Vegeta's petty quibbling. To let the issue pass, he added: "Sorry if it was inconvenient. I'm here now."

"At least you flew this time", spoke Vegeta sharply as he entered through the door, keeping watch of Yamcha from the corner of his eye. "Thoughtful."

"What?" Yamcha asked, his hand still on the handle of the door he had just closed behind him. He looked at the prince, who stood at the end of the hallway, still glaring back and sulking like he had been gravely insulted.

"Hmph. Nothing", the Saiyan mumbled. He hung his leather jacket on a peg on the wall and stomped into the living room. A second later, light streamed into the hallway.

The human took off his own coat and followed his guest, disconcerted. Vegeta stood in the middle of the white rug still visibly indignant, hands in the pockets of his trousers, shifting his weight from side to side. Yamcha felt that his good mood was fighting a losing battle, but he was determined to try and make it through the night with dignity. He cleared his throat and picked up his notebook from the armrest of the sofa.

"Well, let's see what we have for tonight", he said as he sat down on the rug. Vegeta followed suit, though he seemed to have trouble keeping still. Yamcha opened his notebook, but as soon as he had lifted it to read, Vegeta slapped it out of his hands, sending it flying to the wall.

"Put that damn thing away", he snarled, in a tone that implied he wasn't as much cross as he was ill at ease. Yamcha, however, was startled by the gesture and looked up, flustered. The prince had diverted his eyes to the wall. Unsure if he should be frightened or angered by the erratic behaviour, Yamcha counted silently to ten and opted to make peace one more time. He lifted both hands in front of him, palms open to the Saiyan.

"Okay", he said slowly. "I can see you're in a bad mood today. Could you maybe tell me why that is and let it go?"

"Could you maybe mind your own damn business?"

"I don't think we're going to make any progress here unless you calm down. Has something happened with Bulma?"

"Don't talk about her", Vegeta murmured.

"Why not?" asked Yamcha, now honestly concerned if something had gone down between the two. "If she has said something –"

"I said don't!" yelled Vegeta.

"Okay, what is your problem?" Yamcha snapped, his patience spent.

"What about yours?" the Saiyan snapped right back. "If we're talking issues, you're clearly the more messed up of the two of us!"

"Wha- I don't need to tolerate this kind of crap from you!" Yamcha exclaimed. "This isn't a therapy session, and it definitely isn't a place for you to take out your frustrations. If I'm so unbearable to be around, you know where the door is."

"You're telling me to leave?" scoffed Vegeta.

"If you can't start acting your age and spit out what's wrong with you, then yes!"

"Oh, like you're a prime example of sincerity! You, who occupy yourself with that useless sport, pretending like it satisfies you, yet have to run home every night, all the way from the other end of the city, just to break a little sweat." Vegeta was spitting out the words in disdain. "It's pathetic. You try to tell yourself you're accomplishing something when in reality you crave real challenges but have no guts whatsoever to pursue any!"

Yamcha froze, his mouth hanging slightly open. A lump quickly formed in his throat. His skin broke out in goose bumps, yet he felt hot. He squeezed his mouth into a thin line and bit the inside of his lower lip, and shaking his head slightly, diverted his eyes from Vegeta's, which were ablaze with defiance.

"That's it", he said quietly, looking to the side. "I don't want to do this tonight. Please leave."

The prince cocked his head and gave a small disbelieving laugh.

"I haven't asked for your opinion", he retorted.

"Yeah, ever", replied Yamcha, calm and articulate, refusing to lose restrain. "Just leave, okay?"

Vegeta inhaled sharply as if about to respond right away, but the look on Yamcha's face made him hold back his words. The human kept his gaze fastened to his left. His eyes, usually so vibrant with emotion and glistening with unsaid words, now had a veil pulled over – sending nothing and letting nothing in, like a pair of clouded lenses. Only the viscous breath he drew through his nose revealed the turmoil behind the composed exterior. Vegeta could practically see the wall that had appeared between him and the other man. The prince cursed inside his head. His rashness and his – unwarranted, he had to admit – spite had made the human put up his defences like never before.

Vegeta took a deep breath and looked down.

"Yeah", he muttered. "Perhaps I should go."

Quietly the Saiyan stood up, walked to the hallway, put on his shoes and jacket and exited.

Yamcha remained kneeling on the floor for several minutes even after the other had gone. Finally he let his muscles relax, brought a hand over his face and groaned in shame.

"Shit", he sighed as he wiped his eyes, which were watering out of sheer embarrassment. He felt stupid. Stupid and so incredibly small. He tried to find pride in himself for having held his ground against the prince for once, and he did, but the satisfaction was slim compared to the abashment with which it came.

Had he not been so engulfed by embarrassement, he would have given more room for confusion – if Vegeta was offended by his priorities, why hadn't he spoken up before? Of course he had realized that Yamcha used to run the 12 miles home instead of flying. He could sense ki, after all. So why not bring it up earlier? Normally the prince had no problem demanding exactly what he wanted or calling people out for what he regarded as their stupidities on the spot.

After another ten minutes Yamcha picked himself up from the floor, thinking he might as well call it a night. Not even sleep could restore the high spirits which Vegeta had managed to make plummet in less than five minutes, but it would take his thoughts elsewhere, at least. He drank a glass of water, blew his nose and walked into the bedroom.

Just as he had unzipped his team jacket, he heard the doorbell ring. The tiny hairs in the back of his neck stood up. Vegeta was back – to put him in his proper place, no doubt.

The shy surge of power he'd got from having confronted the Saiyan had not yet died down, though. If Vegeta thought Yamcha would stand quietly and receive the earful that the prince had been composing for the quarter of an hour he'd been gone, he was wrong.

Yamcha pulled himself together, walked to the door, took an empowering breath and unlocked it. He opened his mouth to give the prince a piece of his mind, but before any sound made it out, Vegeta lunged at him – and without a word, slammed their lips together, throwing the door shut behind him. The prince advanced, pushing the stumbling human ahead him until they hit the wall at the end of the hallway. Vegeta confined Yamcha against the wall, devouring his mouth, hands on his cheeks, kissing him frantically as if his life depended on it.

When Yamcha got over his initial surprise – and the shock of not having received a punch to the guts – he understood what was happening. His gasp of realization gave Vegeta's tongue a chance to enter his mouth, and enter it did, causing a current of thrill shoot through the human's body. The Saiyan's hands held his head tightly, pulling him deep into the kiss. They detached only briefly in order to grab the shoulders of his sports jacket and pull the garment off him, before returning to cradle his face.

Though the anger and mortification from before was still fresh on Yamcha's mind, those sentiments were pushed aside and replaced by new ones, as if this moment took place in another version of reality. In fact, all rational thought in general escaped him as he put his arms around Vegeta and gobbled the Saiyan's mouth in turn.

Vegeta threw his own leather jacket off his shoulders, and the men continued their fervent kissing. The quiet apartment was filled with moist smacking, rustling of clothes, heavy breathing and blunt thuds as Yamcha's elbows hit the wall behind him every now and then. After some time Vegeta pulled the human from the wall and turned his so that his back was to the living room. He took a couple of steps forward and ushered the sportsman to the floor. Yamcha's t-shirt came off and Vegeta covered his chest and neck with kisses, causing him to moan and pant and quiver. He was incredibly turned on – as well as emotional, for he couldn't recall when he had previously been the recipient of such passion.

As Vegeta ran his tongue over his ear, Yamcha felt the familiar compression between his legs. The dread of being found out cut through his clouded mind like a knife. Quickly he put his hands on Vegeta's chest and tried to wiggle his way out, inching backwards while pushing the Saiyan away, but the prince wouldn't budge. Instead, he locked one of Yamcha's arms in place and slid a hand behind the human's head, once again seizing his mouth. Yamcha writhed and stammered to no effect. Vegeta's kisses became even more vehement and the touches of his free hand on Yamcha's bare skin even more intimate, which only added to the human's arousal. And worst of all, said hand was making its way lower and lower along his torso.

Just as Yamcha thought that he was done for, that Vegeta was going to notice his arousal and things were bound to get irreversibly weird and likely violent, he felt Vegeta's pelvis press itself against his thigh. Or specifically, he felt the Saiyan's rock hard erection press itself against his thigh. Yamcha's eyes flew open and his heart skipped two beats.

Vegeta was turned on too. Yamcha didn't know what it meant, didn't know what to think of it. It was hard to think of anything else than the tongue scraping the ceiling of his mouth.

Vegeta's shirt was lost in the process as they continued to suck each other's faces. Yamcha mustered just enough clear thought to wonder exactly how far Vegeta was going to go here, when all of a sudden, the Saiyan pulled his mouth away and stopped, leaving a couple of inches between their flushed faces. After a few seconds' pause, he withdrew from on top of Yamcha, seeming like he had to force himself to do so.

Vegeta sat back and Yamcha watched him, catching his breath on the floor. Hesitantly he also sat up, never taking his eyes off the prince, who had turned to look away. Vegeta cleared his throat, threw his head back and rubbed his neck, still evading Yamcha's gaze.

"Well", he huffed, trying to lighten up the mood, "how was that? Not bad, huh?"

It was wholly unconvincing, but Yamcha thought he understood, and decided to play along.

He made a joke and they laughed, picked up and pulled on their discarded shirts, stood up and wiped their mouths, both pretending like they didn't realize what was really going on.

As Yamcha stood up from the floor, he noticed that a peculiar ease had taken over – like some pressing weight had been lifted off his chest, some strained wire had been cut.

"Are you hungry?" he asked Vegeta. "Would you like to grab a bite?"

The Saiyan prince looked back at him, and for the first time, Yamcha didn't feel the urge to turn his eyes away. Vegeta seemed surprised by the offer, and no wonder. While they had been on if not friendly, at least casual terms for the past weeks, Vegeta's visits had never lingered beyond their primary purpose. Even more than Yamcha offering though, he was surprised by his own reaction.

"Sure."

Yamcha searched through all his cupboards to find enough supplies to satisfy a dinner guest with an appetite as healthy as Vegeta's. While he was cooking, Vegeta walked around the apartment. He peeked into the bedchamber and bathroom. Everything was neat, but in an uncomfortable way, like whoever lived here didn't feel entirely at home. The place seemed clinical, like its resident was careful not to disturb the arrangement of things, like you do while staying in somebody's else's house. The only thing in disarray was the trophy cabinet, in front of which Vegeta stood for a long while. The messiness of the cabinet derived not from familiarity, but… disrespect was too strong a word. Disinterest, more like it.

At some point, Yamcha thought he heard some soft clattering from the living room, but he couldn't make it out from under the loud sizzling of oil on the frying pan. He was curious about what Vegeta was doing, but not uncomfortable. In fact, it seemed like it was about time the prince explored the place closer. He was a regular visitor, after all. Yamcha was surprised that the silence between them that persisted until he was done cooking didn't feel awkward. It felt natural. They both just needed a moment alone with their thoughts before resuming the other's company.

When Yamcha was done, they sat at the kitchen table to eat. They conversed casually, about news topics and common acquaintances. Neither mentioned Bulma – but it didn't feel like they were purposefully avoiding the subject. She was all they'd ever talked about until now, so that topic had been covered.

Vegeta did note that Yamcha didn't talk much about himself. He preferred talking about other people and asking questions about Vegeta's life. Though he was tempted, the prince decided not to pry. He wanted to savour the rare atmosphere, the chance to see the other man as uninhibited as this.

When they had finished their late-night supper, they bid each other good night and Vegeta left. When Yamcha returned to the kitchen to clean, the sight of the uncleared table set for two made him stop in his tracks. He couldn't remember the previous time he had cooked for more than one person. His eyes started tingling and he laughed at himself. Getting emotional over a pile of dirty plates – how silly. And how painfully true.

After filling the dishwasher he exited the kitchen, wiping his hands dry on a tea towel. As he passed the trophy cabinet, he noticed that it had been organized – the cups and medals lay neatly side by side, organized by rank, year and league. Yamcha stood in front of it for a while. It was true. He wasn't proud of any of them.

With mixed feelings, he took to bed. Sleep came to him surprisingly easily, easier than in a long time, and come morning, he didn't recall having any dreams.


End file.
